by Rose Beecham
“If I say yes will you talk to me?”
Jude hated Mercy’s habit of answering a question with a question. “I don’t have time for this. What do you want?”
“Why won’t you come to the soirée?”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” Jude plunked herself down on the bed. “Is that what you’re calling about?”
“Jude, we have to move beyond this. It’s been months since the wedding. Your behavior only draws attention and makes people wonder.”
“Like attention is a problem for you. Was I on drugs or did you and Elspeth go on TV to announce your wedding?”
“I wasn’t referring to myself,” Mercy said. “You’re the one who’s paranoid about being outed.”
“Funny, that’s not how it seemed when we were seeing each other.”
Mercy had flatly refused to go on social outings in case they were spotted together. Jude had respected her wishes. After all, they didn’t live in San Francisco. This was the Four Corners, right next to Utah, not exactly a bastion of tolerance and diversity. The few gays and lesbians Jude encountered were not out publicly, although friends and family usually knew. Durango had a visible LGBT community and a PFLAG branch, adding fuel to the widely held view that the place was a hotbed of liberals and rich lefties, destined to become just like that hippy-infested Sodom in the east, Boulder.
Jude didn’t have a problem with being discreet, and besides, it suited her agenda. Being open about her sexual orientation would compromise her undercover operation. There was no way Harrison Hawke would bare his soul with a lesbian, so Jude had gone to some trouble to establish heterosexual credentials, including a bogus boyfriend. The mutual “beard” arrangement she had struck with Bobby Lee Parker was in part to help her cover, but she had also gone that route to shield Mercy. Not that it made any difference. Mercy still wouldn’t share even the kinds of social outings that were normal for women whose paths crossed professionally. Now, all of a sudden, she was out and proud. Married, no less, to the woman she’d been sleeping with throughout her nonmonogamous unrelationship with Jude. Elspeth Harwood, phoniness personified.
“Elspeth and I are willing to let bygones be bygones,” Mercy said.
Jude was ready to puke. “I’m going to hang up now.”
“No! Please. Wait.”
A soft rush of breath poured into Jude’s ear, filling her with unbearable longing. She still missed Mercy so badly she could forget to breathe. Hating that sorry fact, she forced her lungs to process air and said, “Could we just let this go? I’m not coming to your party. I’m not into the movies your wife makes. I have nothing in common with her or her friends. Why would I torture myself by spending a whole evening with those people?”
“To see me,” Mercy said.
“Are you serious? You think I’m that desperate?”
“Yes.”
Infuriated, Jude said, “Fuck you.”
“Yes, fuck me.”
The husky reply made the blood rush to Jude’s head. She sagged back against the pillows, willing herself not to hear Mercy repeating those very words as their bodies danced in carnal rhythm. She wanted to hang up, but the sound of Mercy’s breathing stopped her. Thanks to a marvel of technology, their voices could bounce from earth to space and back again. Yet they still weren’t communicating.
Jude forced herself to lower the phone before Mercy could speak again. Staring at the display, she placed her finger on the End button and severed the electronic pulse that connected them.
*
Lone turned in her rental Toyota at Provo, took a cab to one of several Starbucks in the vicinity, and walked for twenty minutes to reach the garage she’d leased for the past year under the name “Houseclean Enterprises.” She swapped the plates on the Honda Accord she’d left there on Thursday, then drove to Monticello, not stopping at any time during the four-hour trip. As she approached Madeline’s tidy suburban house, she checked her wristwatch. Taking this route, the trip home from Jackson Hole was around seven hundred miles, just over twelve hours on the road, counting the stopover in Provo. It was now 0320 hours. With the final leg to Rico, she would be home before six in the morning, exactly according to plan.
She parked in the garage and closed the door by remote. At this time of night the neighbors were all asleep. Hopefully no one would notice her arrival and even if they did, they wouldn’t think twice about it. She made a point of visiting the house at least once a month, like any absentee owner, staying for a couple of days to make sure her property was in order. During that time, she would come and go occasionally, including late at night. Routines were important. People paid no attention when they seemed familiar.
The house was silent and had a musty, unoccupied smell. Lone turned on the kitchen light, took a bottle of juice from the fridge, and sat down at the table. As she drank, she reviewed her decision to execute the first phase of her mission at an event instead of at one of the three Cheney residences.
The drawbacks were obvious. Heightened security. Greater risk of collateral damage. Late notice—most Cheney appearances weren’t announced publicly until close to the date, so last-minute logistics hassles were inevitable.
Yet there was an upside. Security would be tight. It always was when the VP left a secure location for one of his carefully orchestrated glimpses of the outside world. Yet the Secret Service’s successful record in protecting vice presidents could create a chink. Cheney’s detail thought they had the threat assessment formula down. They believed they could single out the kind of individual who could be gunning for their man. Audiences were handpicked and subject to intense screening. Only the party faithful and big donors were allowed up close.
By controlling access, the Secret Service had the battle half won. Their man would never veer off script and break through the perimeter of his protection on some random whim to speak to a veteran in a wheelchair, or kiss a baby. Such impulses were driven by curiosity or an innate empathy for others—human sentiments that would never afflict the Dicktator. This was a man who shot captive quail from the safety of his car: why not stalk hamsters? If there was one thing Lone could count on, it was that Cheney’s actions in a crisis would be driven by self-interest, cowardice, and paranoia. He was completely predictable, and that made her planning easier.
To neutralize him, she intended to exploit the one vulnerability all high-profile targets shared. Arrival and departure. The Secret Service could control access in a contained space, but out in the open the environment was unpredictable. Massive advance planning was always undertaken and plans were made for all kinds of contingency. Routes were kept secret and streets and buildings around the venue were cleared. But there was no way to guarantee security. The unexpected could happen and Lone planned to make sure it did.
She knew exactly how to create the opportunity she needed. Chaos would be a factor. Wherever Cheney went, there would always be protestors, and in certain cities the turnout would be optimum. A frightened crowd could be counted upon to create a commotion. A van full of plastic explosive would deliver mayhem, even if no one was hurt. Lone had spent the past year observing the security measures at Cheney appearances and making advance plans of her own for five potential venues. By her calculations, he would appear at one of these in the near future, and she would be ready. She even knew where she would park the van and which building she would hide in ahead of time.
Lone poured the rest of the juice down the drain and walked through the house, making sure all the doors and windows were secure. She paused in the bedroom she’d shared with Madeline and picked up a framed photo from the dresser. Madeline and Brandon, heads tilted close. From each face, the same serious brown eyes regarded her with deep affection. Mother and son smiled with the joyful surprise of people whose lives hadn’t been easy and who cherished the good times when they came along. Lone dusted the picture against her T-shirt and replaced it on the wood surface. Despite her lack of faith, she believed they were together now, in heaven. Surely, if there
was a higher being, they had been granted peace.
Sitting on her side of the bed, Lone dwelled on her undertaking. She knew it was wrong to take the law into her own hands. But the men of the evil alliance did not respect the law or the constitution. They were bereft of honor or conscience, and entirely corrupted by power. Their stranglehold on the country had to end, and surely it was the duty of any true patriot to see that it did. Lone took that duty seriously. Operation Houseclean was now in transition. Her planning was complete, her rehearsal phase was in its final stages. Within weeks, she would be ready to execute.
There were eight names on her list. Nothing excessive, and all extremely deserving.
*
“What’s the time?” Debbie blinked and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, almost dropped the phone.
“Just after six. Hey, Debbie doll, how are you?”
“I was worried about you.”
“Why?”
“Wouldn’t any woman be worried if her partner went away for days and never called?”
She felt guilty for talking to Jude about her relationship and for letting her go through files on the computer. If only Lone communicated more, she wouldn’t have involved their detective friend.
“I told you I’d be out of range. I can’t keep trying my phone just in case there’s a signal.”
Debbie didn’t believe Lone had tried her phone once. “Where were you?”
“In the mountains.” Lone’s voice softened. “Sweetheart, I told you not to worry. Don’t I always comes back?”
“Yes, but what if you didn’t? What if you were lost? Imagine how stupid I’d feel trying to report you missing, not knowing a thing about where you were hiking.” Feeling like a nag, she said, “It doesn’t help that you keep changing your cell phone number. What if I lost the new one? Not that you ever answer my calls anyway.”
Lone sighed. “You’re angry.”
“Yes.”
“Then I’d better make it up to you.”
Debbie’s stomach dropped. Lone knew exactly how to reduce her to putty. It happened every time they had words, and what they usually fought about was Lone’s obsession with privacy. Debbie felt incredibly shut out. It occurred to her that she would trust Lone with her life, yet she didn’t trust her completely as a partner. What was wrong with her? After all Lone had done to help her and make her feel good about herself, it didn’t make sense.
She came right out with her worst fear. “Is there another woman?”
“No.” The denial was swift and emphatic. A soft chuckle followed. “Is that why you’re upset? You think I’m seeing someone?”
There was a patronizing note in her voice, like she thought Debbie was being ridiculous and had no right to question her. Debbie had heard the same tone before. From Meg. Her ex had always gotten self-righteous when Debbie challenged her. She’d hidden her cheating behind lies and guilt trips, making Debbie feel like a bad person for being untrusting. Lone was completely different from Meg, and Debbie couldn’t believe she was fooling around. But when your partner keeps on disappearing and not answering the phone, what other explanation is there?
She knew Lone was waiting for her to crumple like she always did, and she knew how this conversation would end. Lone would be in her house and in her bed, and she would push her concerns to the back of her mind yet again. Well, she was fed up with that game. Lone felt far away, even in their most intimate moments. The distance between them made Debbie question everything. Did Lone even love her?
“I don’t know what to think,” Debbie said, adding wordlessly, Because you don’t talk to me.
“Don’t you trust me?” Lone sounded hurt and genuinely shocked.
Normally Debbie would be apologizing by now, she was such a sucker. With a flash of anger, she said, “I think I’m the one who should be asking that question. If I went away for days without telling you where I was and never phoned, wouldn’t you want an explanation?”
“Debbie doll—”
“Don’t,” Debbie said sharply. “You always turn things around as if I’m the one who’s being unreasonable. You act like I’m silly because I want you to tell me what’s going on.”
“I don’t think you’re silly. I love you.”
“Then how can you talk about us moving to Canada without even telling me where we’re going? What if I have other plans? Are you just going to go without me?”
“I’m coming over,” Lone said stiffly.
“Don’t bother,” Debbie flung back, furious that Lone still hadn’t answered a single question. “I won’t be home.”
“Okay, I’ll come to Le Paradox.”
“I won’t be there, either.”
“Calm down, baby. This isn’t helping.”
Debbie wasn’t sure what had possessed her, but suddenly she wanted to make Lone walk a mile in her shoes. Lone thought she could come over and make love just to avoid the issue. Well, not this time. Forcing a flippant note, Debbie repeated the words Lone casually threw at her every time she went away. “I’ll call you when I get back.”
Lone still wasn’t hearing her. “I think we should talk. How about if I bring over a couple of steaks and put them on the grill.”
Debbie’s hands shook. “Do what you like. You’re welcome to use the house while I’m away, if you want.”
“Away?”
“That’s right.” Using the same excuse she’d heard from Lone on several occasions, she said, “Something came up and I have to be out of town.”
“It’s not Meg, is it?” Irritation drove the tenderness from Lone’s voice. “I told that lawyer of hers if she ever hassles you again you’ll take her to court.”
“This isn’t about Meg.” Debbie got out of bed and took clean clothes from her drawers.
“Then what’s up? Where are you going?”
Debbie laughed. “I can’t believe you’re asking me to explain myself. Haven’t you heard anything I just said?”
A stony silence followed, then Lone bit out, “So, this is some kind of tit for tat?”
Tears blurred Debbie’s vision, but she kept control of herself. “Lone, you know everything about my life, and I know nothing about yours. You know where I am every hour of the day, but I never have a clue where you are unless we’re together. You sleep in my house, but I don’t even know where you live. You tell me we’re moving to Canada. You don’t even ask if I want to. And you accuse me of not being trusting?” She gulped in a breath. “You’re the one who doesn’t trust. You’re the one keeping secrets, and I’ve had enough. Do you understand?”
A heavy silence stretched between them. Debbie watched the digital clock count down the seconds. When it became clear that Lone didn’t intend to meet her halfway, she said, “Just so you know, the silent treatment is getting old and it’s childish. I’m going to take a shower now.”
Still no reply.
Debbie gathered her clean clothes despondently. “I love you, Lone, and you’re hurting my feelings. Think about that when you shut me out.”
This time she didn’t wait for a reply. Dropping the receiver into its cradle with a sharp thud, she stared at the pillow Lone slept on. They’d been sharing a bed for more than a year, but it only dawned on her now that she didn’t really know who her lover was. She just hoped she did.
Chapter Seven
The interview room smelled powerfully of chemicals and lemon deodorizer, the scent having built up overnight after the cleaners shut the door. Pippa sneezed and blew her nose. She looked like she’d cried all night.
Jude took the seat across the table from her and said, “Are you sure you don’t want to speak with your lawyer before we begin?”
“I don’t have a lawyer. Do I need one?”
“That’s entirely up to you. We don’t have to do this now. If you’d rather wait for your parents—”
“God, no. Let’s get it over with.”
Jude went through the formalities, explaining that the interview was being taped and that Pippa
could be asked to give evidence in court.
“That’s fine,” Pippa said. “I don’t know anything. But whatever.”
“I want you to relax and think back to yesterday afternoon,” Jude said. “Just tell me everything you remember. Even the little things that don’t seem important. Let’s start with driving to the house. In your 911 call, it seemed like you weren’t sure of the address.”
“I’d never been there. I overshot twice trying to find it,” Pippa said. “I turned around at Stoner and came back down the road. But by the time I saw the house I’d already gone past it again, so I pulled into a driveway. I remember the ranch. A River Runs Through It. Very original.”
Jude smiled. “I know the place. Did you have to wait for any cars to pass before you could make the turn?”
Pippa stared into space for a moment. “Yes, there was a white family car heading north, and two other cars passed on the other side going toward Cortez. One was an old Cadillac with a wobbly back wheel. The other was a Lexus. An LS 460. Dark gray with tinted windows. I thought it was going to smash into the back of the Cadillac.”
“It was in a hurry?”
“Yes, it was trying to pass the Cadillac. The driver was pissed and flipped the bird.”
“Are you sure it was a Lexus?”
Pippa nodded. “My sister-in-law has the same model. Dad says it’s a status car made for dummies. She’s a terrible driver.”
“Do you remember anything else about either car?”
“The Cadillac had all kinds of bumper stickers. Nascar. Playboy. Immature stuff. The Lexus had a Colorado plate. I looked at it because I thought if there was an accident I might have to come forward.”
“Did you get the number?”
“I was going to write it down when I got to Uncle Fabian’s but with everything that happened I forgot. There might have been an ‘X’ in it.”
“That’s helpful.” There couldn’t be too many of the luxury sedans registered in Colorado. The color and plate details would narrow down the search. “So, you drove up to your uncle’s house, arriving at around four forty p.m. on the afternoon of Saturday, the eighteenth of August. How were you feeling?”